


Saving Each Other *Ianthony*

by smoshyphantrash



Category: Smosh
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Anthony Padilla - Freeform, Anxiety, Best Friends in Love, Dan Howell - Freeform, Daniel James Howell - Freeform, Depression, F/M, Ian Hecox - Freeform, Ianthony - Freeform, M/M, Phil Lester - Freeform, Philip Michael Lester - Freeform, Rape, Therapy, YouTube, YouTubers - Freeform, bisexual boys, bisexual guys, ian hecox/Anthony Padilla - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoshyphantrash/pseuds/smoshyphantrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Anthony have been best friends since 6th grade. Now that they're both 27, there are secrets that have been hidden for 16 years that finally need to be revealed. Each of them have a skeleton in their closet, how it escapes is a mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anxiety

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of almost all things triggering. If you're easily offended or faint of heart, then this storyline is not the one for you.

Ian's Point of View

My heart's beating faster than a NASCAR vehicle, my palms sweating more than a boxer's. My feet feel stuck to the ground, as if I'd been nailed into the floor. I feel the color shift of my eyes and the panic starts.

"Come on, son. Daddy loves you, ok? This is love."

The lump in my throat feels like it can cut off my breathing, killing me instantly. My knee begin failing me and I fall to the ground, shaking and crying. No, I wasn't having a seizure. I was having a panic attack. I saw the man come closer and closer to me.

"You get to work with Daddy, ok? It'll be fun for the both of us!"

I shook my head furiously, pulling my knees to my chest, crying. Whenever I had a panic attack back in high school, I'd immediately call Anthony. Now? Anthony's phone is dead and I can't reach him. He said he's be home in about 45 minutes. Unfortunately for me, my panic attacks can last up to an hour or more. 3 minutes in, this is where I feel things touching me. Hands. Hands touching me. 15 minutes in. Pressure. I feel like I'm 13 again. 20 minutes in. Burning pain. I cry out and whine, begging to be hated. I didn't want to be loved. 30 minutes in. Phantom pain. The pain of trying to even shift one leg. I begin to let tears fall fast. 45 minutes in. Nausea. Feeling overly stuffed with food. Discomfort. I begin to gag but I don't even run to the bathroom. It's like I'm paralyzed. All I can do is turn over slightly, enough to throw up, without choking to death. I whimper, laying there in my own mess. I begin repeating the same four words. "Please no. Daddy, stop." I'm still doing this as Anthony walks in the door. 

"Ian!" Anthony throws down his keys and the food, running to me. 

I'm still shaking, "Please no. Daddy, stop." 

Anthony runs to my room, grabbing my portable sedative machine. He puts the oxygen mask on my face. I'm still repeating those words. "Please no. Daddy, stop." Anthony grabs the level one sedative, putting the cartridge into the filter and turning it on. He holds my hand as I begin breathing in. 

"Please no. Daddy, stop. Please no. Daddy, st-. Please no. Da-. Please no... Please..." My words come to a complete stop. I'm breathing normally again. Tears are still streaming down my face, and I'm still conscious. But my panic has subsided substantially.

This is where Anthony begins talking to me. "Ian... Buddy, it's Anthony. You're safe. We're in Sacramento, not Carmichael. You're 27 years old. It's February 4th. You're safe. I'm taking you to the bathroom. I'm running a bath, ok? You threw up. You're safe, bud. It's ok." I felt Anthony set my machine in my hands. "Here, you're on your oxygen and your level one sedative. Can you hold onto this?" I was in a trance like state. I couldn't do anything except breathe and listen. I didn't even blink often. Anthony scoop his arms under me and picked me up, heading to the bathroom. He took me to my bathroom, so he could stop and lay me down in bed. I couldn't look anywhere, but I heard Anthony rummaging through my drawers for some clothes for me. I had thrown up on almost every other item I had. The rest had been soiled by accidents I had. Anthony began running the bath and then came back to me. He took off my mask, turning my machine off. I grabbed his free hand, groaning softly. It was like coming off of anesthesia. I began to shake again, but that was my sedative wearing off. Anthony went and grabbed some of his clothes as well, then stopped the bath. 

"You ready for your bath, Ian?" Anthony held my hand, brushing my hair out of my face as he looked down at me.

I mumbled incoherently, asking if he'd be there with me. Anthony nodded, knowing what I meant. "Mhm." I groaned out. Anthony took me to the bath, taking off my clothes. He sat me in the tub and then sat behind me, fully clothed. He didn't mind at all. I began to fall asleep as he washed away my mess. I felt him run his hand over new slits in my arms. I hissed out in slight stinging pain. He sat with me until the water turned cold. When he got out, he dressed me and laid me down to sleep, then taking a shower before getting dressed himself.

After all of that, he brought in the Panda Express that was for dinner, bring it to my room. We sat back and watched some movies as we ate.

"Thanks for taking care of me, Anthony." I finally say to break the silence.

Anthony grinned, taking my hand again. "No problem. It's nothing  
for my best friend. I know you'd do the same." I smiled softly and cuddled down into the covers, slipping away to a deep sleep.


	2. Midnight Thoughts

Anthony's Point of View 

I watched Ian sleep, soft, sound and peacefully. His story was sad. He always remembers the beatings his father gave him, his little brother, little sister and his mother. Ian loved to draw and many of his drawings were symbolic of his anxiety and PTSD. Images of guns, held against a young boy's head. Another one, the little boy head, pointing down at his beaten mother while his little brother lie dead next to her. One of his most recreated drawings depicted two massive hands, covering a teen boy's face, the other holding his waist. The boy held a blank stare in his eyes, no emotion. Scars ravishing his body. I once found all of his drawings and doodles in a Manila envelope under his mattress when I changed his sheets one day after he'd thrown up on himself in the night. As he slept that night, I looked at the aged papers. Many of the small, minimal detailed drawings were yellow and fragile, dated in the 90s. 

Ian was one of the most tortured souls I'd ever met. Then again, so was I. I had become numb to my own pain to help Ian through his. I had secrets to hide as well. I snuck out of bed, putting a pillow in my place for Ian to hold onto. Successful in that endeavor, I made my way to the bathroom, locking the door.

I looked at myself straight in the mirror, taking off my shirt, something I would be dead without. Scars. Deep scars. Some of them white and some of them with maroon tones from the blood pooling under the scarred tissue. I swore to myself that it'd only start with one. Just to relieve stress. That one quickly multiplied into 100. Then it spiraled out of control. So much that just one fleeting moment during a school day, I took a bound toward death.

I was laughed at for my weight. I wasn't chubby, I wasn't terribly skinny. We had done swimming in our Physical Education class and the boys just needed trunks. 

Everyone teased and picked fun that my scars were all from liposuction procedures. I got out of the pool, and told my teacher that I felt nauseous, so I could sit on the side. Ian never swam and just did the written assignment for those days, so I sat with him, working with him on the reading and answering questions. Ian's medical conditions made schoolwork hell for him. He didn't have a learning disorder. His brain just wouldn't stop and prioritize his thoughts. I sighed, pulling on my swim jacket, zipping it up. 

"Treading water is for when you start drowning to stay afloat." Ian said, passing over his answers. "I've literally done every single paper, and just redo them, since there's nothing else for me to work on." I nodded, taking his paper and smiling softly.

"Hey, fags!" A guy from the pool yelled. We couldn't help but look back. "Why don't you two come in here? But please, from the rest of of us, forget how to tread water." He smirked. His friends laughed with him and shoved off. That had been the 38th time that month that I had been threatens with death or suggested that I commit suicide. That had pushed me over the edge. Ian and I got so much hate. We were the first openly bisexual males to attend our high school since it became a No Place For Hate school. Obviously, the school board didn't care much about that anyway. 

When the time came for us to get dressed and go to lunch, Ian and I stayed behind, away from the rest of the class. I kissed him softly, making him lean back on the locker. Nothing hot and heavy, but passionate, full of love. I expected it to be the last kiss of its kind. Ian smiled softly, wrapping his arms around my neck while my hands found their way to his hips. I pulled away slowly, giving him a slight Eskimo kiss. "Why don't you go, save a table for us ok? I'll be out in a minute." I nodded. Ian smiled and let go of my hands, walking to the cafeteria. 

I sighed and opened up my locker, pulling out my clothes. I changed quickly and then grabbed a letter out of my bag. I kissed it softly and placed it on top of my bag. I looked around to make sure everyone was gone and then I grabbed my rope that was in my bag. I let the tears fall as I tied the knots. I walked into the back toward the showers. I put the rope over a study area, standing up on the shower bench that was there. "I'm so sorry, Ian..." I whispered before jumping off, choking as my body dangled from the ceiling. I instinctively grabbed at the rope around my throat and kicked as if I was treading water. I heard someone walk back in. Ian. I began to cry and panic. I didn't want to leave him. "Ian!" I called out with all of the night I could. I started to get so weak that I couldn't swing my body back to the bench. 

"H-Hello?" Ian called out, fearful. I heard his sneakers squeak toward me. I saw him come around the corner and he screamed. "Anthony! Oh my God!" He ran to me, pushing me to the bench, but I had stopped fighting. My body went limp. "No. No. No!" He yelled. "Help me! Help me please! My boyfriend he tried to kill himself! Please help me!" Ian beat on the walls and made noise. He grabbed my hand, not able to leave, even if he was going to get help.

Couch Dunham came in from the pool, hearing the noise. "Hecox?!" He called.

"Showers! Hurry please, Anthony tried to kill himself!" Ian tried to push my legs up so the noose would move off of my Adam's apple, but to no avail. In my last few moments of consciousness, I felt Dunham pull me down from where I was and Ian holding me and rocking me. "Anthony," he cried, bringing me to the floor. "Please baby, wake up... Please?" I weakly reached for his hand before I passed out.

Over the next few months, Ian and I were in the hospital, I had been sent to the psychiatric hospital. One day, I broke even more. I hid in the bathroom, done with all of the poking and prodding. I was tired of the tests. Maybe if I hid, the men in white coats wouldn't come for me. Ian came in with something to eat for me, but found me sitting behind the sink, crying and shaking. "I'm not crazy... Please, stop letting them treat me like I'm crazy..." I cried. "Ian, please, don't think I'm crazy. Mom thinks I'm crazy, Dad thinks I'm crazy, everyone here thinks I'm crazy. Don't be one of them." 

Once I got out of there, Ian and I got emancipated, able to live free at the age of 15. Our families didn't support us. That's how Ian and I got here, Sacramento. The only two around for each other. 

I sighed and put on my shirt again. My hand rose to my throat, rubbing it softly. I thought the rope burn scar would have been gone after 12 years. But it was still there. Not hard to miss but impossible to forget. I left the bathroom and walked back to Ian's room where he was still sleeping peacefully. I laid back down and held him tightly as we slept. We were safe for now and we needed no one else.


	3. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGERING CHAPTER  
> MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT AND ABUSE

Ian's Point of View

I wish Anthony knew the truth. But I don't want him to worry or seek vengeance against a problem laid to rest... Literally. The person I had this hatred against that hurt me so much is dead and I can't fix anything now. The bastard died on me. The nightmare started up again:

"Did you touch my son?!" A woman yelled from the bedroom across from mine. More words to write. 

"Why would you even THINK to accuse me of that? That is sick and inhumane!" Her husband screamed. I heard her chuckle, her next words, chilling my tiny body.

"You're sick and inhumane, Jerry. You are sick and inhumane." I hid my notebook as the woman came toward me. "Ian, baby... You and mommy are going to go stay with Aunt Elise." She smiled. I cringed inward as my mother came to take me away from what I thought was something ok. Take me from love. 

"Sarah, you're not taking him anywhere." My father spun her around. "That is my son and he stays here. He stays with the man he needs in his life." I moved over into the corner. Tears falling. I tried to hide behind a big teddy bear that the man had gotten me. Looking back, I can't even call him "father". Predator... Bastard... Psychopath, Pervert. All of those fit more than "Father" ever would.

I screamed out as a family photo had been thrown against the wall. "You raped my son! What father does that to their child?!" She yelled. What was that word? Rape? I thought it was spelled L-O-V-E? Or was love spelled R-A-P-E?

"I loved him and I still love him, Sarah." He yelled. "I will not let you trash me like this or put these ideologies in his head!" He picked me up, taking me away. I heard nothing more from that house, we left so fast.

An hour or so later, but longer in children time, we had arrived at a hotel. Nothing fancy, just enough room for a man and his son. "What was that word mommy used at the house?" I asked.

My "dad" looked at me confused. "Which one, sweetheart?" He kneeled in front of me.

"The R word..." I looked down at him.

His face fell. "Oh... Raped?" I nodded. "Oh that's just between us ok? Nothing big. People confuse it for love all the time. All she said was I loved you." He placed his rough, calloused hand on my knee. He smiled and kissed me, just a quick peck on the lips. That night, he "loved" me again, gave me a bath and then let me drift off to sleep. 

Next, my dream flashed forward to my first time with Anthony, 2 years ago.

Anthony laid me back, kissing me passionately. We had just gotten "engaged". In reality, we just got two $20 "wedding bands" from Walmart. That night we made a promise that we'll forever keep. Even if our bodies move into someone else in this life, our souls will always belong to each other. Anthony deserved to have his way tonight, but the damn anxiety from the memories and secrets got to me.

Anthony's hand caressed my side, just like my dad's had so many times before. I panicked and jumped, yelling out and knocking my head into his face, deviating his septum even more. "Ow! Oh God!" Anthony pulled back, holding his nose.

"Oh my God, Anthony, I'm so sorry, I just... I- let me get you some ice." I said, jumping to go get him some. Anthony's hand grabbed my wrist and I whimpered a bit. 

He loosened his grip and drag his hand to interlock with mine, pulling me back into bed. "I'll be fine... Are you ok?" He asked. "We don't have to do this..." He said, pulling me close to him.

I felt so guilty. For hurting him and for not letting him have his way. "No, it's fine, you just tickled me." I chuckled. Brushing it off, I kissed Anthony, pulling him back over me. He didn't think much of it and just went along with it.

The entire time, I began thinking of my dad. I wanted to cry and screamed and try to fight, but that wouldn't have been nice to Anthony. It was best to just let him have my way. His mind said "love" while mine screamed "rape". 

Later that night, I had more nightmares about my dad. At this point in my sleep, it was just inception.

I flashed back to when I was 16.

I walked through the front door of my father's middle class mansion, there with him for the weekend. Every weekend, it was the same thing. I listened to the sound of my converses squeaking against the floor at the entrance. "Dad?" I called, letting my bag drop to the floor. I walked further into the house, not finding him anywhere. I sighed and grabbed a mini bottle of Pepsi, cracking the top and drinking some. I sat up on the counter, waiting. If I didn't, I would've been in big trouble. Within a few minutes, my dad walked into the kitchen, smiling at me. I started to have a panic attack. I hated this. I had finally known that what he'd been doing to me wasn't love only 2 years ago. But I couldn't do anything about it without risking the life of my mother and my boyfriend. I wasn't going to let them be hurt, so I bit the bullet and took the pain. Anthony and I were only best friends at this point. My boyfriend was Dan. He was the foreign exchange bad boy of the school. A deep British accent and a style as dark as his tar black soul was to die for. My father threatened to hurt him and my mother if I interfered with his business. I wasn't going to let that happen.

"Hey, baby boy." He smirked, standing in front of me, hands at the side of my legs. My heartbeat quickened. I felt like I couldn't breathe. But I continued acting as if this was normal and fine. It was not normal and it was far from fine, I finally understood that. My father kissed me, letting his hands roam. I screamed internally to be set free from this hell, but nothing was going to work out in my benefit. "You don't have to work this week." He said, pulling me down, forcing me to wrap my legs around him. This is was so wrong and every part of me knew this. It was sick and inhumane, just as my mother said ten years ago. He tried carrying me to his room, but my legs gave out, falling off of his waist, the rest of my upper half coming with. I fell to the floor, hitting my hip into the wall. "What the actual fuck, Ian?" My dad began to yell at me.

"Stop it! Please... Just let me stay with Dan this weekend..." I pleaded, sitting up against the wall, pulling my knees to meet my chest. The bastard chuckled.

"You want to go be his slut for the weekend?" He asked, walking closer to me. His tone send off red flags all throughout my head. I pissed this man off. "Huh, Ian? You want to go be with someone who doesn't love you like I do?" I was ready to throw up.

I mustered up all of my strength to stand up, holding onto a nearby chair. "This... This is not love, Dad." I started. "No father loves their son this way. They play ball, not with their balls." I said, getting angry. "I can't fucking stay like this! You've been doing this to me for 13 fucking years, let me go!" The angry left my soul in the form of tears. 

My dad came closer to me, pinning me against the wall. I yelped out in fear of what he'd do next. "Don't you ever talk to you father like that ever again. I own you, you little slut." He said. He let me go, and that confused me. Usually in a fight like this, he'd have his way with me. What was he doing? "Go spend your time with that manipulative British twat." He yelled. I did something I never thought I would. My fist swung across my father's jaw. 

"Dan will always love me more than you ever have or ever will." I said sternly, walking out with my bag. I jumped in the car and drove to Dan's house. He was here by himself. He was 18 at this point so it made sense. When I got there, my entire point of view about Dan changed. 

He held my Dad's behaviors within him. As soon as he got me alone, we got caught up in passion. Then I stopped. "Dan... I-I can't do this..." I said, pulling away from his kiss. 

He was taken aback. "Maybe this will change your mind." He smirked, removing his shirt. I shook my head, getting up. Dan grabbed my wrist, flinging me back into bed. I yelped out like a lost puppy. He caressed my body, taking off my jeans. "Shh... Let me love you." He said. 

I screamed. Loud. So loud that the entire room began shaking. That's when I realized that Anthony was waking me up from my nightmare. "Hey, hey, Ian. I've got you..." He whispered, pulling me into a hug.

I cried silently, needing to tell him. "I've got something to say... Promise me you won't look at me differently?" I asked. Even in the dark silence, I could tell that he had his eyebrows furrowed.

"What's wrong... What is it?" He sat up worried. "A-Are you one of those fake bisexuals wh-who thinks this is just experimental fun? Have you lost feelings for me? Ian, are you cheating on me?" 

I grabbed his hand tightly. "No, no, Anthony... It's ok, I'll tell you another time." I smiled softly although he couldn't see me. He held me close, nodding. He pulled me into his chest, laying back down. I couldn't go back to sleep yet. So we sat there in the dark, just quiet.


	4. Selfish

Anthony's Point of View 

What I just did was incredibly and ridiculously selfish. But I can't bear the thought of Ian leaving me. He's my other half and I love him too much. I held onto him as he slept again, watching thin closely. Then I wrapped my hand around his, our rings touching. 

I remembered the moment when we bought these rings.

"I promise to forever love you." Ian smiled.  
"Even if my body moves on, my soul stays with you." I grinned.  
Together, we claimed to be each other's soulmate.

Why was I so worried about losing him? Ian was mine. That's why. No one could have him, because he belonged to me. Lately though, I've been suffocating him. All the doubt made me tired until I finally had to get some sleep. 

Early the next morning, I was awaken by Ian's crying, even from the kitchen. I jumped up and ran to him. "Ian?" I wrapped my arms around him, rocking slowly. He shook his head, squirming to get away from me.

"Let me go!" He cried. I did as he asked and waited for him to turn to me. "I-I have to go somewhere... About a week. It's somewhere you can't go." He whispered, avoiding eye contact with me. I felt as if he threw a rock into my stomach, dizzy and the wind getting knocked out of me. "Anthony..." He said. "P-Please say something."

I shook my head, "I don't think it's anything you'll want to hear." I mumbled.

"What? Tell me please..."

I looked at him. "Y-Why can't you stay here or why can't I go? Where the fuck do you need to go away from me?" My voice rose. "Damn it, Ian, who is going to be there to put your sedative in your oxygen tank or to hold you unt-" I froze. "You know, if you want to just leave me. Say something." I began getting angry. "I mean fuck, Ian, I'm giving you something here."

"Please, Anthony. It's something you don't understa-"

I cut him off. "Don't fucking tell me what I do and don't fucking understand, Ian Andrew Hecox." I sighed rubbing my temples. "Fuck it, just go." I ran to my room, slamming the door. I slid down it and cried.

It's over, I guess.


	5. Chapter 5: The Only One Who Gets It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian visits an old flame.

I sighed, walking down the terminal of London's main airport. Anthony hated me now, maybe I'll just stay here. I caught a glimpse of two 6 foot tall men, a brunette and a noirette. "Ian!" One came toward me, the brunette.

"Hi, Dan..." I smiled, holding my bag on my back and my suitcase in my right hand. I pulled away and shared a glance with his boyfriend. "Hello, Phil." I wasn't quite fond of him...

Phil smiled at me. "Hey, Ian. Let me take your bag." 

I shook my head, holding onto it tighter. "N-No, it's fine." I mumbled.

"No, come on." Phil grabbed my bag but dropped it. My heart broke with the sound of my machine. "Oh, I'm sorry." Phil said.

I groaned, pushing past him. "You idiot!" I opened my bag up and tried to turn on the machine. It rattled inside, the screen that usually lit up was cracked and half black, half rainbowed. My machine was fucked. "Oh God..." I whispered, the anxiety coming to choke me again. "Fuck, fuck fu-" I began wheezing, grabbing at my chest and crying.

"Hey..." Dan pulled me off to the side and sat down with me again. "Do you have a spare?" He whispered. I nodded, pointing at my suitcase. Dan pulled my suitcase over to us, unzipping it, grabbing my spare. "Which cartridge goes in?" He asked. By the state of my panic, I needed a three, so I held up three fingers. He rushed to put it the machine, putting the oxygen mask over my face. As he started it, my breathing began to slow down. "There we go..." Dan ran his hand through my hair. "Let's get you moved in."

Half an hour later, Dan and I were back at their apartment, Phil had decided to go to Florida for the week, to stay out of the way. I felt bad that he thought he had to leave because of me. I may not have liked him, but this is his house too. "Thank you so much, Dan."

"Don't worry about it." Dan said, walking down the hall to his room. "You can stay here. But let's catch up... Why'd you decide to come here all of a sudden?"

I sighed, sitting down on his bed. "Well... The thing with my dad is bothering me... I want to bring him back to life just to kill him over again for what he'd done to me and mom... She needs justice. His death shouldn't have been left in his hands. I should have killed him." I rubbed my eyes, Dan sat next to me. "I need to tell Anthony. I need to tell him how I can forgive you for what you've done but I can't forgive my father. At least you tried to fix it make it better. You didn't continue to abuse me."

Dan sighed, holding onto me. "I'm sorry that I even did that."

"Don't start. You're just the only one who gets it..." I looked away. My eyes traveled back to Dan's. Him and Anthony both have brown eyes, but Dan's look much warmer than Anthony's. Dan's embrace is tighter than Anthony's. I cleared my throat standing up. I knew exactly what staying there would've led to. I would've began falling in love with him again.


	6. Chapter 6: Mistakes

Anthony's POV

Fuck it, you know? I couldn't do this. I couldn't stay like this, waiting for Ian to open up to me. I was always open for him, but he feels like he has to lie to me. Acting like he's okay. No. I can't wait for him any more. I picked up my phone, dialing my best girl friend. "Miel? Hey... Ian and I broke up... Do you want to maybe, go get some drinks and talk about it?" I bit my lip. Lying like this wasn't great either, but right now, I was fed up and extremely hurt by this. Immediately after I hung up with Miel, Ian called me. I shook my head, sliding the red button over. Preparing for the night, I jumped into the shower. 

Maybe this was all wrong, but maybe I don't give a flying fuck anymore. 

The entire night went by in a blur, but I woke up next to Miel. Oh shit... I actually took her home. I immediately grabbed my phone. It was blown up with texts from Ian, angry texts. How'd he fucking know? "No, fuck man..." I went through my social medias. There were pictures of me with Miel all over my Instagram. Wow, I publicized my mistakes. I sighed, slipping on some pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, going into the living room. I came up with my story, which was the painful truth, and dialed Ian's number. It took a few dial tones, but he eventually picked up.

"What do you want?" Ian asked, angered as expected. Before I opened my mouth, Ian began yelling. "How could you? Is it because I left? I left to talk to a friend because they know things that I'm not ready to tell you yet. Why? Because you overreact and get angry over things that aren't supposed to be conflicted. What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Anthony?"

That last sentence pissed me off. Fuck the truth. "You, Ian. You're what's fucking wrong with me!" I yelled back. "If you don't want me to overreact, stop fucking leaving me. Stop acting like I'm so goddamn impossible to fucking talk to! Ian, I am here for you. There's no damn reason for you to run off and talk to someone else. I am right fucking here. Who makes sure you're okay after every anxiety attack? Who's the one that takes care of you? Ian, last time I fucking checked, it was me. I'm the motherfucker that watches over you, takes care of you. Why don't you fucking appreciate that at fucking all?" It was bold, it was hurtful, I still didn't care.

Ian didn't speak, but I heard his tears begin. "I-I want to tell you... I really do." He whispered. "I just can't do it right now. Whenever you stop sleeping with someone as if we broke up, I'm in London... But you know what? Don't fucking come for me. Send all my shit through the airport. You wanna act like we're over, wanna cheat with a clear conscience of what you're doing, do it. It's just you now. Fuck you." That was the end of the phone call.

I sighed, running my hand through my hair. "Anthony?" Miel called, walking out in a big shirt of mine. "Are you okay?" She asked softly. I nodded, pulling her into a hug. "I had a great time last night." Miel smiled softly, laying her head on mine. 

With the shitty situation I was in, I smiled, kissing her softly. "So did I."


	7. Hiatus

Hi guys, I've lost inspiration for this story, I'm so sorry. Once I find it again, I'll try to end this quickly so that it's not a complete cliffhanger.


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